My hands froze in Charlie's fur and we both gaped at her. "Roger?"
"Yes, the man you saw last night. The one I said hello to at the bar? I told you we were having lunch today."
She had mentioned that. But she had a bit of a "date aura" about her that was throwing me off. "You're just friends now though, right?"
Mom turned back to look at me from the door to the hallway. "Why?"
"I don't know," I said, feeling sheepish suddenly. "It's just, I mean ... what about Dad?" I knew I was channeling my six-year-old self and I should not give Mom a hard time about this, but I couldn’t seem to help it.
Mom sighed and crossed her arms, her face softening a bit. "Tatum, your father has been gone a year. I loved him. I will always love him. But he's the one who died, not me. I'm going to keep living my life because I know he would expect me to."
"It just seems ... wow, has it been a year? So Roger, huh? Do you think it could be serious?" My mom's dating life was suddenly far more active than my own. I wasn't sure how to feel about that.
She stiffened a bit, dropping her arms. "I don't know," she said. "But I'm not going to sit around and mourn for the rest of my life. Roger meant a lot to me once. It kind of seems like fate that I'd bump into him again now."
I watched her turn and go back to get dressed for her date, hugging my big dog and trying not to think too hard about my own empty evenings. Mom deserved to be happy. And if Roger made her happy, I wasn't going to argue about it. Much, at least.
"Okay," I told Charlie. "Well, Mom's got big plans today, buddy. And so do we."
The big dog cocked his furry brown head at me, those huge eyes on mine.
"We'll go out for a run," I promised him, words that got him immediately up on all fours. "And then I'm going to see what all the hype is about with Mr. Match."
Charlie disregarded this last part. He was too busy running an excited circle from the door to the kitchen and back to me. I shouldn't have told him about the run yet.
"I'm not quite ready," I said, standing and waving at my sweatpants and sleep shirt. "But I'll go get dressed, okay? Why don't you patrol the yard for a bit?"
I let the big guy out so he could gallop around the yard while he waited for me, and went in to dress for my run.
I loved being able to step out my door and be running along the ocean's edge ten minutes later. I loved walking to the little shops and restaurants on Garnet, and the sunny laid-back vibe of the little neighborhood we were in. In a few short days, San Diego had worked its way into my system, and it felt a bit like a relief I hadn't known I needed. I loved northern California. The bay area was beautiful and scenic, and...it was also expensive and crowded and there was a ton of traffic. And if you wanted the truth? Living in the house I'd shared with my husband felt a little stifling. I didn't miss him, exactly. But the house held the promise of what my life might have been like, what it was supposed to be. It made me feel like a failure in some ways, and I thought maybe it was time for a change. But I didn't know if Mom was ready for me to leave the neighborhood. Or potentially leave Palo Alto. I had some thinking to do, and a run was a good time to do it.
As we moved along the sand—running on the boardwalk was out of the question, as Charlie had proven on his first day in Pacific Beach—I couldn't help looking around a bit, expecting to maybe see Max. After all, I'd bumped into him the very first time I'd come down to run. But he didn't seem to be out this morning, and I told myself I wasn't disappointed about it. Why would I be? He was a client.
A very sexy, funny, smart client, who happened to be single, about my age, and exactly my type—witty, wry, intelligent.
Those facts would need to be disregarded though, because Max was a client, and I had worked hard for my career. I wouldn't risk it all by letting myself become too interested in Max Winchell.
When we got back to the house, Mom was just leaving for lunch. She looked fresh and pretty, her cheeks pink and her lips rosy with gloss. Her eyes were bright and happy, and I didn't think I'd seen Mom looking so alive in a while. Since Dad had died.
I swallowed down the rush of sadness that threatened to overwhelm me.
"Have fun, Mom." I watched her get into her car and drive away, and went inside to make more coffee.
The coffeemaker at the little house hadn't been quite up to my standards, so I'd brought home a cappuccino machine like the one I had back in Palo Alto. It might have been a little extravagant, but coffee was one of my greatest pleasures.
Charlie watched with great interest as I brewed a cup and frothed some milk, and seemed so intrigued I even made a bit for him, putting it into a plastic bowl and adding extra milk to cool it for him. He eyed it suspiciously, then dropped his head down to sniff and taste it. He looked up after he'd lapped it all up, and I swear he grinned.
"Good, huh?"
Charlie wandered to the sunny spot in front of the window looking out on the street, and when I had finished cleaning the floor where half his coffee had ended up, I settled down to work.
I needed to learn more about the way Mr. Match worked. I wanted to learn everything I could about the business, and part of that included the consumer experience. I'd spent a lot of time on the site in my initial assessment, but I'd been more interested than in the books. Now, I wanted to see how it worked from the front end. I opened a browser window, went to the Mr. Match site and created a profile. I didn't use my real name—though I was sure Max didn't personally screen all the new users, I didn't want to risk it. I had a different email address I used for things like this, but still had to give my real name on the card I used to give my permission to charge me monthly. After that, I was emailed a link to the intake questionnaire.
It was smart to take peoples' money first, because I was willing to bet half the population would change their minds about signing up if they were allowed to see this insane form first. The questions were completely off the wall, asking everything from whether I could roll my R (I cannot), to whether I enjoyed hamsters and gerbils as pets (I do not). It was bizarre, and I stopped more than a few times to storm around the room questioning the logic of this form. People really found love this way? For the most part, I entered whatever came to mind, answers that might or might not have actually mirrored my own preferences about things.
You couldn't argue with the results, I guessed. But the form was nuts. I didn't actually hit "submit." After all, I wasn't looking for a match really, and I didn't want to be matched to someone hoping for a genuine love connection—especially since Susan Rose (the name I set up) was not a good representation of who I actually was. I didn't submit a photo, either. I just wanted to see what, exactly, people were getting into with the site.
I spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone with the office, discussing the business with Foster. I'd emailed him just after Max had confirmed his desire to keep the business but take a step back, letting Foster know we'd need an executive.
"I don't have anyone I'm feeling really good about for this right now," Foster told me when I asked how the executive search was going. "But I do have someone in mind. I'm just not sure she's up for it."
"Oh really?" I liked the idea of a woman CEO for the site. "Who is it?"
"You." He said the single word and then nothing else as he gave me time to absorb it.
My head spun. Me? As CEO of Mr. Match? That would effectively make me Max's boss. Or his partner at the very least. I couldn't pretend I didn't like the faith Foster had in me, I just wasn't sure how it would work in a practical sense. "That's insane. I'm not an executive. I don't have the experience, I can't—"
"Slow down, Tate," he said, a laugh in his voice. "It would only be temporary. Just until we find the right person to assume the role more permanently."
"I'd stay in San Diego for a while, then," I said, thinking it through. "Until you found the right person."
"Yes," he agreed. "Probably three to six months. What do you think?"
Why didn’t he want me to come back to
Palo Alto? I’d been one of his best employees, I’d more than proven myself at work. I wasn’t sure what to make of this. "But," I protested. "Foster, you're not trying to let me go, are you? I'm good at my job. I've always been—"
"You're one of my best analysts. I want you to gain some management experience, get in the trenches a bit and add that kind of day-to-day understanding to your portfolio. Get you ready for the next step."
Which I hoped was taking over his position when he retired, though he’d only hinted at it so far. I couldn’t help but be flattered by his faith in me. "Yeah, okay."
"Okay? So you'll take it?"
"Well, I mean. There are a lot of moving pieces. I'd need to talk to my mom. To the client, obviously."
"You think he'll have an issue with it?" Foster asked. "Is he a jerk? Hard to work with?"
"No, no," I said, maybe too quickly. "He's great. I really like him, actually..." I trailed off. I liked him too much. Would this make things that much harder? If I stayed, I'd have an excuse to be around Max longer, and my stomach danced around a little when I thought about that.
"Well, why don't you sleep on it? Let me know for sure tomorrow."
"Yeah, that sounds good," I agreed. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I took Charlie out again after that, needing an escape from my laptop and work. We meandered through the neighborhood to the restaurants along Garnet, and settled into a sidewalk table at a fish taco place where we could linger and people watch. I ordered some food and a beer, and the waiter set Charlie up with a water dish, and the two of us sat. I read Kate Morton's latest historical fiction and Charlie was content to watch the people and dogs pass along the sidewalk. Every few minutes someone would stop to pet him, so I think it was safe to say we both had a good afternoon.
When Mom arrived home to find us gone, she texted me, and then walked over to join me, settling in and ordering a glass of Sangria.
"How did it go?" I asked her.
She just smiled, and I was happy to see her happy.
"I know it probably seems odd," she said. "But I've known Roger forever. In some ways, being with him is a bit like coming home."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just sipped my beer and looked out at the street. "I like it here," I said.
"I do too."
I glanced at her across the table, unsure how Mom might react to me announcing my plan to stay here longer than originally planned. "Mom, I'm thinking of staying. Moving. Maybe temporarily."
She didn't say anything for a second, but pressed her lips together in a little smile. "Really." It wasn't a question, and she didn't sound terribly surprised. "I was actually thinking the same thing."
I hadn't expected that, but I let her words roll through my head for a moment, and then smiled. "Maybe we both need a change."
Chapter 13
Shot Down Near a Potted Plant
Tatum
Max and I met at the offices the following morning. I found myself heading downtown, parking, walking up the wide sidewalk to the offices with new eyes. Would this be my new home? Would this be my new office?
I opened the office door and stepped inside, and Max appeared in the hallway. My stomach gave a little roll when he moved into the small lobby, and I ignored the way my heart galloped. "Hi Max," I said.
"Tate." His smile was warm and wide. "Good to see you." Max's dark hair was pushed back from his face, the longer locks in front forming a kind of wave I was tempted to push my fingers into. I dug my fingers into my side with one hand and clutched the handle of my bag tighter with the other. "Let's go talk." He turned, and I followed him down the hallway. Today we passed the conference room, and Max took me into a little office at the end of the hall. His office, I assumed. "Make yourself comfortable."
There were two leather chairs in front of a desk, and an impeccably clean desktop. There was the requisite computer and one photo frame next to it, with a picture of Max, a woman who looked remarkably like him and an older woman. His mother and sister, I assumed. Otherwise, the surface was clean, and the stark empty shelves around us were also mostly empty of personal items. A few books on leadership and business, a potted plant that looked less than loved. Max took the seat behind the desk. I settled into one of the chairs, noting that this dynamic—him behind the desk and me in the chair facing it—gave us a slightly different feeling. He was in charge here. It was his office, and sitting before him made me feel a little bit like an employee who'd been called in to be reprimanded. I wondered if he'd been aware of that when he'd bypassed the conference room to come in here.
"How are you?" he asked. "How's Rose? Charlie?"
"They're great," I said, settling into the leather chair and trying to look relaxed. For the record, I wasn't relaxed. My stomach was in knots and my blood felt hot beneath my skin. I was fighting my attraction to Max Winchell, and I wasn't doing a great job. I considered what it would be like, coming to work here every day, seeing him every day. Could I manage it?
I cleared my throat. "Thanks for asking. We're all really enjoying it here, actually. For Mom, I guess it's a bit like coming home."
Max nodded, settling back into his chair and resting his elbows on the armrests, folding his hands at his belt. He looked confident and cool, the oxford shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the collar of a crisp white T-shirt beneath the royal blue fabric, along with the most tantalizing little bit of golden skin at the hollow of his neck. "So, have you found me an executive?" he asked.
I pulled my eyes back to his face, heat climbing my cheeks as I noticed the little smirk that spread across his lips. He'd undoubtedly caught me staring.
It would be fine. It's not like we'd be sitting in the same little office if I worked here. I could handle this.
"Well, yes actually. Though the idea my manager came up with might surprise you at first. It took me a little while to get used to."
A single line appeared between Max's brows. "Really?"
"It has been difficult to find exactly the right candidate to take the helm of Mr. Match," I explained. "A lot of the executives we work with are looking for more traditional companies, or a bigger employee base to help grow their experience. This is an unusual venture—potentially more hands off than many of the executives we place are looking for."
Max's dark eyes remained on my face, and I felt oddly vulnerable beneath that penetrating stare. It reminded me of the way he'd look across the line at the opposing team when the camera caught him up close during a game. I'd let myself stare back at him when I'd watched him play, sitting with my dad in the living room of our old house, allowing a pointless crush to bloom into full flower. Now I was finding I needed to hoist those blooms back in, forced them down and stomp on them. I needed to be professional, something I was finding increasingly difficult, the closer I got to Max. But I had too much to lose to be careless about my actions. I'd worked too hard.
"Go on," Max suggested.
"Well, so ... here's the thing." I was stalling because I wasn't sure what to expect from Max when I suggested that I would be a good fit. Would he burst into laughter? Would he dismiss the idea outright? "My manager suggested that we extend the search a bit, work to find exactly the right individual."
"Okay," Max said slowly.
"But in the meantime, we don't want to hold up the investment process, so we'll place someone on a temporary basis until the right candidate can be found."
"That makes sense," Max said.
"My manager suggested that I might be a good fit for that temporary role." I said it and waited for Max's reaction, forcing my shoulders to stay tall, my chin to remain lifted.
Max said nothing for a moment, but uncrossed his hands and leaned forward, as if to see me more clearly. "You?" He finally said.
"Just temporarily," I said.
He tilted his head slightly to one side, and I could practically hear his mind working, calculating, turning over scenarios like pages in a book. His eyes remained impassive while they studied
me, and those long fingers found a pen on the desktop and began rolling it first one way, then back.
After a long moment in which I swore I could hear the blood running in my veins, whooshing in my ears, he put the pen down with a finality that made it clear he'd decided.
"I don't think so," he said.
My mind darkened. "What?" All the distraction dissolved and I became myself again. A capable and intelligent woman, reaching for a position I wanted and being told no. "Why not?"
Max dropped my eyes, studied the pen in front of him for a long tense moment. Finally he looked up again, something like amusement on his face. "I just don't think it's a good idea."
"I can certainly let my superiors know that's your position," I said, my voice stern and calm. A hot swirl of anger flooded my gut. Did he think this was amusing? "But it'd be useful to have a few things to tell them about why. What are your concerns?"
He held my eyes and I was surprised to see his lips turn down in a fleeting frown that looked almost sad. "I have a few reasons, Tate. I'd just rather keep them to myself. Let's continue the search."
I sat up straighter, indignation stiffening my limbs. "I'd like to hear your reasoning," I said. "Or I'll have to assume you don't think I'm capable of running a business. Your business." I took a deep breath, pushing down the anger threatening to force words from my lips that I might regret. "I'm going to assume this is not due to my gender." I let that sit there for a moment, growing even more irritated as the sad smile on Max's face lingered and he still didn't speak.
"Listen, Max. I know this company inside and out. Maybe as well as you do by now. I've gone through the ludicrous questionnaire and seen the consumer-facing side. I've talked to people who've been matched to learn about that process. I've been through the financials with a fine-toothed comb, and I assure you, my Stanford MBA is a promise that I know what I'm looking at."
Scoring the Boss: Mr. Match Book 4 Page 9
